Sisters and Family
by MySarcasticGreenCrayon
Summary: "Perhaps they might forget—as some are wont to do—that you are family. Perhaps they might think—wrong or right—that you have chosen poorly. But they love you anyway. They are your sisters." "In their triumphs and their mistakes. Even in their sorrows. " A story of two sister's reconciliation. And how, along with Draco and Teddy, they're a family they were always meant to be.


_An older sister is a friend and defender - a listener, conspirator, a counsellor and a sharer of delights. And sorrows too. ~**Pam Brown**_

* * *

Sisters have some bond that no one else can understand. They love, no matter what; no matter if they have become obsessively devoted to the embodiment of evil; no matter if they have chosen another life completely (indelibly) separate from yours. There will always be, somewhere in their heart, their consciousness, their being…their soul, a kinship with you. Perhaps they might forget—as some are wont to do—that you are family. Perhaps they might think—wrong or right—that you have chosen poorly. But they love you anyway. They are your sisters.

Narcissa often forgot herself about what it meant to be a sister. It was easy; she was alone. Essentially orphaned. Her elder sisters had abandoned her, each in their own way.

Bellatrix had done it first. Her sick obsession with the Dark Lord (even thinking that made her shudder) had taken her away. How could Narcissa go to her for advice—about any manner of thing—when she no longer cared? How could Narcissa even _like_ her when she was no longer the person she used to be? It was…impossible, improbable. Painful. Then…then Bellatrix had gone and been killed. What kind of person did it make Narcissa that she could not grieve the passing, albeit only the physical as the emotional, psychological passing had been many years before, of her elder sister? Evil? No, human. And human hearts could break innumerable times.

Andromeda had done it second. The horrible irony was that she hadn't done it intentionally, not even selfishly. It had been self-preservation. So many years after Andromeda had left, after Aunt Wallburga had blasted her off of the family tree, Narcissa could not decide if she envied or hated her sister. She often thought it was both. Narcissa could not share with her the happiness of marriage (or the pain of its pretense or the agony of having your husband taken away) or the unaccountable joy of having a child. She could not send her a letter and expect a long, rambling reply as she had done before. She could no longer find comfort in even the thought of Andromeda—of one day, perhaps, choosing that life instead of the one she had lead.

The point, Narcissa supposed, in the end was that she had abandoned them too. Hadn't she left Bellatrix on her own instead of trying to save her? Hadn't she ignored Andromeda's entire existence because she had married a Muggle? Those were betrayals; Narcissa could not (would not) fool herself into thinking otherwise. What kind of family had they been to begin with, then? Dysfunctional? That was too kind a word. No, they just had been a family only in idea—not practice.

Except…except, there had been no fake feelings between three young girls. They had loved each other. Genuinely. Nothing could have taken that away. Could it?

* * *

As Narcissa walked the grounds of Malfoy Manor, part of her was unsure whether she was more anxious awaiting what would happen that afternoon than she had been at any other time since Draco's birth. She still had no idea what had possessed her to post the letter to her sister. Perhaps her maudlin musings of late were signs of impending insanity. She laughed to herself. At least Draco was inside doing something or other with the books, so he could not witness his composed mother at her, well, most un-composed.

After finally seating herself at the edge of the garden near the gates, Narcissa was able to create some sense of calm about her. She had no idea what would happen; what was the point of working herself up over it? None. The sound of a distinct pop interrupted her thoughts. She glanced up and saw a figure standing just outside the gates.

The figure was tall and her brown hair had definite threads of gray, but she was unmistakable. Andromeda Tonks stood on the other side of the Malfoy Manor gates for the first time in her life. It was, to say the least, a momentous occasion. Narcissa waved the gates open and Andromeda made her way toward her. For a moment, both stared at the other, unsure of what their next move should be.

"Hello, Narcissa."

"Hello, Andromeda."

The cool voices fit the freezing December scene perfectly. The grey eyes of both women were a perfect complement to the snow-shrouded landscape they stood in. The tension was palpable. But underneath, underneath the pain and resentment, there thrummed something else. Something warmer.

"It's been a long time."

Narcissa's pale blond brow winged up. "Yes. Please, sit."

If Andromeda questioned their staying outside, nothing of it showed on her face. She stared at her younger sister and waited. It was Narcissa's scene, after all.

"I wasn't sure you were going to come." The confession was quiet, a whisper on the wind.

"I wasn't sure I was going to come. But I'm here."

"I'm…thank you. For coming, that is."

Andromeda cocked her head. She had never, not even when she had been a very small child, seen Narcissa so unsure of herself.

"I wouldn't have if certain…circumstances made it seem more worth my time."

"Circumstances?"

"I have many a bone to pick with you, Narcissa."

Inwardly, Narcissa flinched, but her face stayed smooth. "I had assumed so."

"I…for many years…I have been so angry with you. Everything you did. You did not support me when I left for Ted—when I had expected it, stupidly it seems—and then you compounded it by becoming wrapped up in that lot of war mongers. You never, not once, tried to stop your husband, you _son_ from partaking in that evil. Now…now my husband, my child, her husband…they are dead. And I, I am left to care for my grandson, alone."

They sat for a moment, letting the sting of bitter anger dissipate from the air. Narcissa stood and paced back and forth while Andromeda watched. Finally, Narcissa sat and faced her sister. "For many years, I have been so angry with you. You left me with ailing parents whom I had to bury _alone_ scant months after the birth of my son; you left me with an older sister who had gone insane. I could not tell you how thrilled I was when I became pregnant after so many losses. I could not come to you when I knew, without a doubt, that this time, my husband would ruin my life and that of my son. I had to live that facsimile of a life while an evil man threatened my son with his death if he did not do his bidding. You were not there when I _lied_ to the Dark Lord about Potter so that I could save my _son_—my life."

Andromeda was sure that Narcissa was unaware of the tears coursing down her cheeks. She knew she was crying. It might have only been the space of a few minutes, but Andromeda knew that they both had been wrong. And now…now maybe there was a chance.

"Narcissa…have you considered that we were both wrong?"

"Yes." It was an expulsion of breath.

"How…how is Draco?"

Narcissa stared at her for a moment as if she spoke a foreign language. "He…he is coping. How is your grandson?"

Andromeda smiled, genuinely smiled, for the first time since May. "He's wonderful. He's a Metamorphmagus. Like Nymphadora. The healers, they say there's a ninety percent guarantee that he will not have the werewolf gene."

Narcissa smiled. "I am glad, Andromeda. Very glad. Would…would you like to come to the house? To see Draco?"

Andromeda nodded. "I would like that very much."

They stood, and without realizing it, linked hands as they walked up to the Manor. It had been simple—because they were sisters. And they loved each other.

* * *

_December 25, 1998_

It was a small and quiet affair. Or, as quiet as Christmas Dinner could be with a seven month old Metamorphmagus. Draco was staring at the young boy, amazed that someone that small could make his mother smile in ways she hadn't since he'd been a young boy. He was happy that his mother had found a way to move on in her life. His aunt Andromeda had fit in with him and his mother quite seamlessly. He was old enough, wise enough, scarred enough to know that this was what it meant to be a true family. His mother and aunt laughed and reminisced. His cousin gurgled and giggled and made a mess of what food he had been given. His aunt had made the dinner—his mother had decorated the Manor and he had entertained Teddy. It had been, by far, the best Christmas he had ever had.

They all sat around the table and it was obvious that they were different; had different backgrounds and had come from different views of life. But none of it mattered. They were family—they loved each other. In their triumphs and their mistakes. Even in their sorrows.

* * *

_The family. We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together. ~**Erma Bombeck**_


End file.
